Until We See
by LittleVolodya
Summary: Alfred finds himself in the Afterlife. Slight RusAme.


The blinking neon 'open' sign seems to be beckoning Alfred in despite the dimly lit interior of the dated diner. It's not as if he has much of a choice, this restaurant is the only thing around for miles.

He sighs in relief when he pushes the door open, they have air conditioning. He looks around and notes that no one else appears happy to be out of that awful humidity.

Time and travel weary customers sit in cracked red vinyl booths, stirring sugar into mugs or taking sips of their steaming coffee. Their movements seem off somehow, mechanical or something. He doesn't really want to focus on that, just glad to have found other people. He had been walking for miles. After a while in that barren stretch of land, devoid of even insect noises, he started to feel like he was the only person left in the world.

He slides into an unoccupied booth, shivering a little when his arms come into contact with the table. On second thought, it's a little _too_ cold in here. He wraps his arms around himself and wishes he had brought his jacket with him.

The waitress appears suddenly. Dark rings under dead eyes, she smiles tiredly, calls him darling and asks what he'd like to drink. He grins up at her, somewhat uneasily, and says that coffee will be fine. He lets his smile fade when she turns to walk away. For the life of him, he can't figure out what's wrong. It's right in front of him, but it keeps slipping away when he tries to focus. Like he's trying to remember a dream. A dream, he thinks, I must be dreaming. He doesn't remember anything leading up to this, he was just suddenly walking through this wasteland.

He looks out the window at the parking lot, no cars in sight, and the sky glows a sickly yellow color. It's gotta be a dream, Alfred thinks, but he can't bring himself to make sure. What if it's not?

He hears a soft clinking, the waitress sets his mug down on the table and leaves without a word. He wraps his fingers around the cup, it burns a little and he wonders if you're supposed to feel pain in dreams. All of this is just so incredibly vivid. He decides to wait in this booth until he wakes up.

Hours later, at least according to the dusty clock above the door, he's still sitting in his booth. He's been trying not to panic, but it's kind of hard not to when he notices his coffee is still hot. He looks anxiously around the diner again and all the same customers are still there, stirring their coffee. Taking drinks every so often from their seemingly never empty cups. Or maybe, he thinks, there's nothing in those cups. That thought, for some reason, seems particularly unsettling.

"What the fuck?" He says softly to himself.

He's just glad he didn't actually drink anything, who knows, it might have turned him into one of these weird robot-people. He's back to thinking that he might be the only human left. He's stewing quietly in his panic, trying to figure out what to do, when he hears the little bell above the door ring. He holds his breath. _Oh god, what if it's a monster?! Don't turn around, don't turn around._

He didn't realise that he'd closed his eyes until he hears a soft voice ask if the seat was available. _Doesn't sound like a monster._ Alfred tentatively opens his eyes, looks up in the direction the voice had come from, and lets out a relieved breath. If it was a monster at least it was a cute one anyway. He motions for the other to sit.

"So, what's your name? And do you know what's up with this place? Up until a few minutes ago, I was pretty sure I was dreaming...now, not so much. I'm Alfred, by the way." Alfred tightens his grip on his coffee mug, the already cold air was suddenly absolutely _freezing_.

The stranger is looking at him curiously, and then he opens his mouth to speak and Alfred can see his breath. _What is with the air conditioning in this place?_

"My name is Ivan. This place has a few names, but you can just call it the Afterlife." Ivan stares at Alfred for a few more seconds, then signals the waitress over.

Alfred waits until Ivan is done ordering a large hot chocolate ("with extra marshmallows, please. Thanks, Bella.") before replying.

"The Afterlife? As in, what happens when you die? So...does that mean I'm...?"

"Yes. You'll most likely remember after a while. You're brain is probably trying to protect you from something..." Ivan looks like he's considering something, face serious, as he takes a sip of his drink. The hot chocolate leaves a whipped cream mustache behind.

Alfred giggles a little, it's hard to take anyone with a milk mustache seriously.

Ivan uses his sleeve to wipe it off, and then smiles warmly back at Alfred. "Sometimes how you die effects how you are in the afterlife. For example, I died after falling through a patch of thin ice."

"So, that's why it's suddenly so cold in here?"

Ivan nods.

"Doesn't that suck? Always being cold? And I apologise if this insensitive, but um... How exactly did it happen?"

"I'm used to it, it's been a very long time." Ivan pauses, and looks out the window wistfully. "The ice should have been fine, my family had always gone skating that time of year. I was with my...some one I loved because he wanted to learn how to skate. He fell through and I managed to save him, but I couldn't get myself out."

Alfred regrets asking because Ivan looks really sad now. "Er, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It's been a long time. At least in afterlife years, I don't know how long it's been in Earth time. I still miss him though. That's actually why I'm here." Ivan says. "Bella calls me when a new soul shows up that fits certain criteria."

"What criteria is that?" Alfred asks, tilting his head curiously.

Ivan laughs gently and gestures towards Alfred's head. "Hair that defies gravity."

"Oh." Alfred says, reaching up to try to smooth his hair down. "Sorry I'm not the right person."

"It's not as if it was unpleasant meeting you, you know." Ivan says with a smile, eyes shining brightly.

Alfred blushes a little and wonders what the rules are for dating in the afterlife.

* * *

Notes: Past RusIta. But, a RusAme fic! They're my otp. The waitress is Belgium because I like to imagine her and Russia as friends.


End file.
